


A Whisper of Warning

by anaraine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: Aayla wakes as a low, insistent hum in the Force warns her of danger. It feels oddly closer than usual - a personal, intimate threat rather than one directed at her status as a Jedi General.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiningstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningstar/gifts).



Aayla wakes as a low, insistent hum in the Force warns her of danger. It is not unusual to feel such after a battle —the last bits of Separatist resistance in the area rallying against their defeat— but this feels much closer than usual. A personal, intimate threat rather than one directed at her status as a Jedi and defender of the Republic.

She debates on whether or not to wake her Commander, who rests uneasily beside her but is still _asleep_. With how little sleep they manage to catch these days, she is loathe to wake him. But she also knows that Bly would be angry at her risking her safety while he lay sleeping, and hidden deeper, he would be hurt that she made his decision for him. That she didn't trust him to know and abide by his own limits.

In the end, there is really only one option for her to take.

"Commander," she says, voice low and threaded with a note of urgency.

Bly snaps awake, stiff and still in his position as his eyes flick from one side of the room to the other, automatically searching for a threat.

"General," he responds, raising an eyebrow in mute question.

Aayla opens her mouth to tell him that trouble will soon be knocking on the door, when she realizes there is nothing pressing against her senses. Like the morning mists clearing off the battlefield, the low hum of danger has disappeared into the Force without a way for her to trace it back to the source.

"My apologies for waking you, Bly," she says instead, shaking her head to clear the ringing absence of the prior warning from her cones. "It appears it was nothing."

The tension leaves his body in a heavy sigh, and he slumps back into the bunk. "No apologies necessary. It wasn't a very pleasant dream." The wry twist of his mouth does not invite her to inquire further, and he reaches up to trigger the low-lights - a clear indication of his desire to remain awake.

Aayla nods her head in slow acknowledgement, vaguely regretful at his loss of sleep, but she knows how unrestful those sorts of dreams can be. She has little desire to speak of them herself. The deaths of those men that lie on her soul, the atrocities this war is asking the Jedi to do...

It is only when Bly sidles closer to her does she manage to lose her wandering train of thought. He is a warm weight against her hip, stripped down to his blacks and no further. She is not ashamed to share a berth with her Commander, but the presence of clothing provides a little bit of polite fiction should any of her fellow Jedi wander past - or should an emergency fall upon them. There is nothing to see here: just a General and her Commander conserving space and remaining in better contact for orders that must be given at a moment's notice.

"Aayla?" Bly murmurs, voice rumbling pleasantly up her spine. He presses a kiss to her hip, a display of almost absent affection - if not for the glitter of his dark eyes.

She smiles down at him and lifts a hand to cup the swell of his chin, encouraging him to rise up from his position to kiss her properly. Always so sweet, her Commander, a slick press of lips against her own, a sigh of relief and a curl of tongue that fanned the heat low in her core.

"Shall we create something better to dream about?" she asks him after pulling back, heartbeat beginning to quicken underneath her breastbone.

" _Please_ ," Bly groans, closing his eyes and pressing his head into the crook of her shoulder. The motion sweeps past one of her lek, a glimmer of sensation that has her raising a hand to hold him still against her throat, unprepared for the touch.

She can feel his smirk against her clavicle, the devious pleasure that radiates out from him as he rests a hand at the curve of her hip, and a laugh bubbles out of her mouth, soft and fond. It takes but a moment to push him back into the berth, swinging a leg over to sit astride his hips.

"My dear Bly," Aayla says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his forehead, taking note as the pupils of his eyes begin to widen with lust.

Bly takes it for the permission it is, reaching up to gently pet at her lekku, calloused fingers a bare whisper of sensation against her skin. The pressure of his touch increases in slow, steady increments - nerves sparking and sending little ripples of pleasure up the length of her 'tails. A sigh escapes her mouth unbidden as she settles her weight further on his lap, hips rocking against his as his careful attentions wring an indelicate shiver from her body. She can't help it as her left lek curls around one of his wrists, trapping his fingers against a particular bundle of nerves that pushes a pleased little whine from her mouth.

Aayla can feel the growing interest of his cock beneath her, though it remains hampered by the close fit of his blacks. With a careful hand she begins to peel him out of them - by now, she knows the ties and closures almost as well as she does her own. He lifts his hips obligingly when she rises up on her knees, letting her tug his pants free and giving him enough room to kick them off his feet and onto the floor.

When Bly moves to assist with the removal of her own clothing, she allows it for the sake of expediency - even though she regrets the loss of touch on her sensitized lekku. But his hands are just as welcome curling underneath the fabric of her top, thumbs rubbing soothing little circles against her sides as his fingers splay out to touch as much of her back as possible. The ties of her top are layered into each other in a complicated weave to give her breasts more support, but the way they separate under Bly's fingers makes it seem they are made of cheap candy floss. The fabric puddles in the crooks of her elbows as it is released, the center band splitting apart as the last tie is worked free.

Bly drags the shirt halves down each arm in turn, rather than lift the whole top over her sensitive lekku - she appreciates the consideration, even as she calls him a tease. In retaliation, she wriggles out of her pants instead of standing to remove them, accepting the delay in order to press up against Bly in a way that makes him swallow loudly and grab at her her hips hard enough that his knuckles turn white.

It's a lovely sensation, feeling that strength. The sting of his nails digging into her skin, the trust that she can take it, that he is free to be himself and she will not shy away. Aayla can always feel his awed trust in the Force when they do this, and she strives to remain worthy of it.

When she finally manages to divest herself of her clothing, the blanket they had been sharing has been pushed completely off the berth. Aayla's not entirely surprised; the bunk in her quarters is larger than any of those assigned to her men, but it is not what anyone would consider spacious. She allows herself a second to consider retrieving said blanket, but she runs hotter than any human - she'll keep him warm.

While Bly slowly begins to loosen his grip, Aayla rains little kisses on his face - to the bridge of his nose, the corner of his eye, the tattoos on his cheeks. They are delicate and gentle things that bring a slow flush to his face, a sort of pleased embarrassment that she delights in. When she nudges her own feelings back at him, careful not to project past the edges of the room, his cheeks warm further. It's the perfect enticement to kiss them again.

" _Aayla_ ," he says, half-groan and half-laughter, his hands skimming up her sides to curve under her breasts. It's a clearly calculated move on his part - she can't lean forward to kiss him again without dislodging his hands or trapping them between their bodies. While one option is more dire than the other, both are to be avoided; she lifts her own hands instead, curling them around his own.

She lets one of his hands stay where it is, fingers trailing the swell of her breast, thumb massaging circles around the dark blue bud of her nipple. The other hand she lifts to her mouth, pressing a kiss to the nail of his thumb, then his index finger and so on until she turns his hand over to press a last kiss to the center of his palm. The flush in his cheeks has yet to go down, but the tiny curve of his lips is fond and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look black. It makes her ache, how much a little bit of gentle affection can undo him.

Aayla could —and _has_ — spend an entire night just kissing every inch of his skin, mouth winding along his scars and sending her thanks into the Force at his continued survival. But while that is an excellent and worthwhile use of her time, it is also not what she has in mind for this particular night. Bly is eminently pliable as she folds all but his index and middle finger back, drawing his hand up to take them both into her mouth. His skin tastes faintly of Tibanna gas and plastoid, a combination that is growing on her despite their implications.

When she releases his hand, he skims his fingers down the line of her neck and continues to trail wet heat down the curve of her breastbone, politely avoiding the jewelry still set in her naval. His hand settles comfortably at her pelvis, accepting the press of her weight into his palm as his fingers dip inside her core.

Aayla can feel that first quick catch of his calluses before he pushes in deeper, the slick of her body making it impossible to find again. Still - it's not that much of a loss as his presses up into her, fingers stroking against the sweet spots he knows will unravel her composure.

"Bly," she sighs, closing her eyes as she begins to ride his fingers, the heel of his palm pressing right up against her clit.

"Let me see you, please?" Bly asks, a little bit of a whine seeping in at the edges of his voice. He completes his entreaty with a firm touch to the base of her left lek, an explosive sweep of sensation that echoes in the noises that fall from her mouth.

Aayla could never refuse such an earnest plea. She opens her eyes and lets go as much as she dares in their current location.

A cascade of pleasure ripples down her spine as her muscles clench around Bly's fingers in frenetic pulses, heat spiraling up her body to pool in the tips of her lekku as they twitch uncontrollably at her back. The heave of her chest is loud in the room as she gulps down air, struggling to keep her eyes open - if not locked onto the face of her lover. From the way Bly has tensed beneath her, almost rigid in the way he's trying to hold back, she is also broadcasting her pleasure beyond the bounds of her own body. She tries to reel it back in with marginal success - while she's _sure_ she's not projecting beyond the confines of the room, Bly remains stiff and strained, the feeling of his own denied release mixing with the unfettered delight of watching her come undone pressing up against her senses.

Aayla takes a deep breath, then another. She drags her composure back by the tips of her fingers - just long enough to make her lips form words, if not particularly coherent ones. "I— Alright. I'm. Bly."

It's actually easier to lift herself, releasing Bly's fingers as she reaches for the hard line of his cock, guiding him into her body with a lavish sigh. He is much larger than his fingers, a blunt and heavy pressure that is almost painfully exquisite. In truth, she should probably wait until the pleasure coursing through her lekku had eased - if only to avoid any accidents. But she doesn't _want_ to.

"Aayla?" Bly asks, sweeping his thumb under the curve of her eye, solicitous even when she can feel the demanding pulse running through his veins.

Her smile is a wild and wicked thing as she rocks without warning, causing Bly's hands to snap back down to her hips and hold on. The first upward drag of her body feels like lifting a mountain, the first fall like coming home. The ache within her builds at a rapid pace as she continues to move over him, his hips lifting off the bunk to meet her with thrusts that she can feel all the way down to her toes.

Aayla tries to keep herself from tumbling over the edge before Bly finds his own release, and barely manages to hold on as his head snaps back against the bunk, gritting his teeth against the noises trying to escape from his throat. His pleasure washes over her like a tidal wave and she accepts all of it with a type of greed that is unbefitting of a Jedi - she wants to _keep_ this man and everything he offers her.

The touch that skims down her lek comes as a surprise, one last bubble of sweet sensation as she is thrown into a deep wellspring of intense bliss.

She comes back to the feeling of Bly stroking his thumb against the curve of her hip. They are still a sweaty mess, warm despite the chilled air of the ship, which means that she hasn't been gone long. It feels like there was something she saw, there, thrown into the heart of the Living Force, but she can't quite recall what it was - just that it was _important_.

It would be wise to meditate, given that they will need to get up and be on duty in a few hours, but she has no desire to leave the bunk or her lover - not even to shower. A shaky wave of her hand calls the blanket back up from the floor, settling over them before they have a chance to grow cold. A flick of her fingers engages a further two sets of locks on the door.

She settles onto Bly's left side - making sure he has unfettered access to his blaster should any sort of emergency rouse them from the sleep they are both drifting towards. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees an aberration in the smooth durasteel walls.

"Sithspit," Aayla swears, staring up at the ceiling.

Bly makes a small noise of concern and nudges against her shoulder in mute inquiry, trusting that if it were really important she would not be this relaxed.

Aayla sighs and lifts a hand to pet at the soft bristle of his hair. "Nothing. Only, I left a crack in the ceiling again. At least it's smaller than the last one."

The soft snort and chortle against her shoulder brings a smile to her face, and she falls asleep dreaming of a better future.


End file.
